


Fast Food with Thete and Brax

by RoyHankins



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Conversation in a McDonalds, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family, Gen, Siblings, There is a distinct lack of fics with the Doctor and Brax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24930082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyHankins/pseuds/RoyHankins
Summary: A human and two Time Lords walk into a McDonalds. It's not a punchline to a joke, but just the odd reality Mickey Smith finds himself living one particular afternoon.
Relationships: Irving Braxiatel & The Doctor, Martha Jones/Mickey Smith (mentioned), Twelfth Doctor & Mickey Smith
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Fast Food with Thete and Brax

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the Series 9 finale, but before Series 10.

Mickey Smith had been having a fairly good day, all things considered. As a freelance alien expert, he’d been in East London looking into reports of possible aliens in hiding. It wasn’t like Mickey was going in looking to kill them, he’d been through enough to know a lot of aliens were decent folk. Of course, that wasn’t really relevant, because apparently the person in question had been some sort of Star Trek cosplayer. Once that misunderstanding had been cleared up, he was ready to take the tube back home.

If he was really being honest with himself, Mickey was always a bit happier from false alarms than from actual alien things. After all, there was less violence, fewer nightmares he’d have to deal with for the rest of his life. He still sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, visions of clockwork robots out to kill him still in his eyes.

“There you are!” Mickey looked around at the call, at first sure it couldn’t have been for him. In was early afternoon in London, so the street had dozens of people moving this way and that. “Mickey Smith, I’m talking to you!” Well, Mickey couldn’t say it wasn’t for him now. The voice had more than a touch of Scottish brogue to it, and finding the source wasn’t hard. The man calling out to him stood out. An older man, wearing a suit with a bright red lining inside, almost giving him the appearance of a magician on a stage. Most striking was his eyes, which thanks to his overly emotive eyebrows seemed to bore into the minds of anyone he looked at.

Feeling as if he had no other choice, Mickey approached the man with slight trepidation, his heart beating too quickly. Doing his best to look more happy to see the man than he felt, Mickey replied, “Doctor! Good to see you.” Mickey had hoped to surprise the Time Lord by knowing him right away, but if the Doctor thought anything of it, he didn’t show it. Martha and Mickey were in the circle enough with the extraterrestrial community that UNIT helpfully provided them with pictures of all the Doctor’s incarnations, so they’d know him when they saw him.

At the same time, Mickey almost felt that was unnecessary. As much as the man changed every time he regenerated, if you’d known him once, it didn’t take long to see him in his new face if you knew what to look for. For example, the babbling. “Same to you,” was what came out first, so quickly that Mickey felt himself doubting how happy the alien was at seeing Mickey. “I’m currently looking to hide from someone, someone who has been on my tail and closing. I needed to go somewhere he’d never think to look, and I thought ‘Well, why not pay Mickey Smith a visit?’ So let’s just walk down this street together and-” By this point, Mickey was not surprised, but he was a bit disappointed despite his already low expectations. He’d always known he would never be in the Doctor’s best graces, not like some other people he knew. So the fact he was only there because he knew no one would expect to seek Mickey out? Kind of expected. Still hurt, though. “-There!” the Doctor suddenly shouted, pointing at a nearby fast food building.

Without another word, the Doctor started walking quickly without quite running, pushing through the people around them to cross the street and enter the building. Even annoyed, Mickey still followed. He could see the idea, though, as he looked at the restaurant’s golden arches. The Doctor, here? No one would expect that.

By the time Mickey was in the building, he saw the Doctor was at the front of the line, fixing the unfortunate cashier with a hard stare. “What do you mean,” the Doctor said, carefully enunciating each word, “that you do not serve Whoppers here?” It was very hard for Mickey not to burst out laughing at that, especially with how confused and scared the pimply teenager behind the register looked. Then the Doctor turned to look at Mickey, something almost vulnerable in his expression. “Mickey, what year is it?”

The few other people in the building were looking at the Doctor like he was a madman, which Mickey supposed wasn’t too far off, because of the question he’d asked. Of course, Mickey knew exactly why he’d asked. Scratching at his shaved head, Mickey told him, “Uh, it’s 2016, mate.” It was weird to think about that. It had been what...almost a decade since Mickey had left the TARDIS for a parallel world, never to really go back to it?

Mickey’s reply looked like it was a shock to the Doctor. “Really? Only 2016?” Then he looked closer at Mickey for a moment, as if assessing his appearance. “I thought I was at least in the 2030’s. The merger isn’t for a while then...” Mickey did not miss the implication that Mickey looked more than a decade older than he was, and he grit his teeth in annoyance. He’d almost forgotten how casually insulting the Doctor could be sometimes. Then he gestured towards the counter. “In that case, I don’t want anything, you get something.”

Deciding to just let that go, Mickey couldn’t deny he was a bit hungry, so ordered something cheap. For a second, he’d thought the Doctor was offering to pay, but when the alien pointedly looked away when the cashier asked for payment, Mickey just handed over the money required himself. That done, the Doctor walked over to a booth, and Mickey reluctantly came to sit next to him. “I have to admit,” Mickey said, as they began to wait for his food. “I think you have a point. No one would think to look for you here.”

“Almost no one.” This was a new voice, one Mickey had never heard before, and as he turned to look at the source, who had almost seemed to appear near their table from nowhere, the man was already taking a seat with them, directly next to the Doctor, pinning him into the booth in the process. The man was wearing the kind of business suit that spoke of vast amounts of money, perfectly tailored for the man wearing it, down to gemstone cuffs and a silk tie. He was around the same age as the Doctor, if not a little older, with faded blond hair that was shaved down like Mickey’s own, and a face that felt so severe and sharp that it could cut wood like an axe. There was no Scottish in his voice, though it did sound like it was from somewhere up north. He side-eyed the Doctor, who looked very uncomfortable, and almost embarrassed. “Good afternoon, Thete.” Then his eyes met Mickey’s, who was stunned by that familiar piercing quality in them, much like the Doctor’s, only for the man to extend an open hand. “And to you, Mickey Smith.”

Surprised that this stranger knew his name, Mickey decided to try and look professional, shaking the man’s hand like he would the interviewer at a job. He regretted that choice when it felt like the man was trying to crush his hand like a walnut. “And you are?” Mickey asked, looking from him to the Doctor, starting to feel confident this was whoever the Doctor was trying to avoid by coming to Mickey in the first place.

The expression the man made then was something like a smile, but with so little joy or humor in it that calling it one would be an insult to smiles. “Irving Braxiatel.” The name rang absolutely no bells for Mickey, and it seemed the man noticed that, as he threw a nasty look at the Doctor. “Am I to understand that none of your little friends know who I am, Thete?”

The Doctor, who had been looking rather sullen since this man first appeared, seemed to regain some humor, smirking as he looked out the window into the street. “I had my hands full, Brax. Running around, saving planets, it doesn’t leave a lot of time for small talk.” Mickey didn’t spend a lot of time in the TARDIS, but he still felt like that wasn’t quite true, but he wasn’t going to gainsay the Doctor in front of this Brax person. Without looking at either of them, the Doctor flourished with one hand as he said, “If you’re that upset about it, here. Brax, this is my previous companion, Mickey Smith. Mickey, this is my older brother, Irving Braxiatel.” That had been the last thing Mickey had been expecting to hear. Sure, he knew from talking to other companions that they knew bits and pieces of his past from snide references, but a brother? While Mickey was still reeling from that, the Doctor continued, “Why are you here, Brax?”

As though it was a heavy pronouncement, Brax replied, “The new Lord President sent me.” That sent a chill through the air. Even with what little he knew, Mickey was aware that was the title held by the leader of the Time Lord people. It wasn’t a surprise to see a Time Lord, he’d heard through the grapevine that the Doctor had done something clever and now they were out in the universe again. But instead of going into whatever mission he’d been sent on, Brax just said, “That can wait. It has been some time since we talked. We should, as these humans say, ‘catch up’.” One thing was immediately clear to Mickey by then: far more than the Doctor, this man felt like a Time Lord, with an emphasis on the _Lord_ part of it. The stench of aristocracy wafted off of him like stink off of a barge.

The first thing the Doctor did next was scoff. “Oh really? I think it’s been over six hundred years since the last time you bothered to talk to me.” Mickey was an only child, but even he could feel the family drama beginning to start, like the ground shaking before a volcano erupts. “Fine, I can play that game. How’s the collection?” From the way the Doctor said that last sentence, it was clear he found something funny in the question.

That earned another smile from Brax, though this one did seem to have some joy in it. It also reminded Mickey distinctly of a lion looking at prey, with something deeply predatory inherent to the expression. “The Braxtiel Collection was broken up and resold to collector’s throughout the universe. Once I’ve fulfilled my obligations to Gallifrey, I plan on reacquiring it all, piece by piece.” Something glinted in his eyes as he added, “Including those you’ve been keeping in your Time Capsule, Thete.” The Doctor tried to hide it by fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers at the table, but Mickey could see his old face pale a little at those words.

So, Mickey thought, his brother ran some kind of art collection? But rather than ask for more details about that, he stepped into the conversation, even as it drew more Time Lords’ attention back to him, so he could ask, “You keep throwing that name around. Who’s ‘Thete’?” Hell, Mickey wasn’t even sure if he was pronouncing it correctly.

Both elbows on the table, the Doctor flippantly waved a hand without looking at anyone in particular. “It’s a nickname. In the Time Lord Academy, my designation was Theta Sigma. I didn’t choose to go by ‘The Doctor’ until more than halfway through my first incarnation.” Mickey smiled at that. It wasn’t the Doctor’s actual name, but it was a lot easier to say. He opened his mouth, about to try it out, when the Doctor suddenly fixed him with a sudden stare. “Do. Not. Call me that.”

Mickey rolled his eyes as he raised up his hands, palms up, trying to appear as though he was taking that more lightly than he did. Sure, he’d definitely tell this juicy info to his wife, maybe throw it around in the comfort of their home, but he wouldn’t use ‘Thete’ around the Doctor. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Brax looked at his brother, curiosity etched into the lines of his face, and asked, “Have you seen Bernice Summerfield recently?” The name rang a small bell for Mickey, though he’d need some research to pick out exactly who that was.

The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly who that was. For the first time in the conversation, he smiled at Brax, genuine warmth on his face and in his voice, as he replied, “I actually just saw her! We were in Sydney, it was wonderful.” It occurred then to Mickey that, as he looked back at the last hour, this was actually the first time the Doctor had looked happy at all since they’d met on the street. It reminded him a lot of that kind of faux-happy he’d masked his pain with after Rose was trapped in the other dimension. The Doctor half-laughed, and added, “You know, I always forget you know her too. How long has it been since you’ve seen Benny?”

“Near the beginning of the Time War. I doubt she’ll ever want to see my face again.” Brax’s reply, which emerged from his lips as cold and chilly as an Arctic winter, killed any happiness in the Doctor’s visage. It was odd, Mickey thought. When they’d been talking about this Bernice person, both had seemed to be...closer? Happier? What prompted Brax to kill the mood, Mickey didn’t know. “Speaking of the War, that’s part of why I’m here.” Now, the older Time Lord appeared to be in Full Business Mode, which only seemed to make the Doctor act more immature and childish.

As the Doctor started idly ripping up napkins into small pieces, a server brought Mickey his sandwich, only to be glared away by Brax. Continuing what he’d begun to say, Brax said, “To begin with, the Gallifreyan High Command wants to make it absolutely clear that there are no threats implied by this meeting or anything I say. We know that it’s by your grace that we’ve emerged into the universe once more, that we managed to escape the Time War alive.” In contrast to the words Brax was using, the tone of his voice was like a teacher preparing a speech in which they’d scold the student.

It seemed the Doctor was of the same opinion, because as he started sorting the pieces of napkin by some strange logic Mickey couldn’t fathom, he asked, “But?” without looking at his older brother.

“But,” Brax confirmed, “that does not mean you can storm into Gallifrey, depose the Lord President, and bring the universe to the brink of annihilation over the life of one person.” That made Mickey’s eyebrows raise as he took another bite. He was going to have to hear more about this when he could. “If Gallifrey is to heal and rebuild, it cannot do so under the threat that you might swoop in whenever you feel like and topple everything on a whim.” Mickey had to admit, that did sound like the kind of thing the Doctor would do.

Rather than take what had been said seriously, the Doctor’s immediate response was the blow a raspberry. Then he said, “Funny how you’re skipping over the fact that the Lord President I helped get rid of is Rassilon. You know, dictator and all around monster that Gallifrey only brought back from the Divergent Universe because the Daleks scared them even more. I think you should all be thanking me.” More names that Mickey didn’t understand, aside from ‘Daleks’. 

Brax took a deep breath in through his nose, while staring daggers at the Doctor. “The Sisterhood of Karn had already taken measures regarding Rassilon, forcing him to regenerate into a more docile incarnation. Steps were being taken to unseat him long before you barged in.” That sounded like political nonsense to Mickey, but he wasn’t a Time Lord and was missing a lot of context. “We are all grateful to see him gone, but that doesn’t mean we want you coming in and playing havoc whenever you’re bored. We’re not exiling you again. We just want your word that you’ll try to think first before risking all of creation or deposing Gallifrey’s leaders.”

If Mickey was being honest, he had to admit that it seemed like the Time Lords weren’t asking for a lot. He still didn’t know what the Doctor had done to make them all mad at him, though. The Doctor had stopped faffing about with his napkin pieces, and was now laying his head in his crossed arms, looking almost childish as he seemed to be tuning out his brother’s words.

Something changed then, in the way Brax set his jaw, almost as though he was digging in his feet. “They ask about you, Thete. Your grandchildren, great-grandchildren, grand-nieces and grand-nephews. They’ve been raised on stories of the things you’ve done, of the figure you’ve cut throughout the universe. For so long, whenever I’d visit Gallifrey, they’d reach out to me, and ask why you never came home. Why you never seemed to want to know them.” The Doctor’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes made Mickey feel like he was definitely listening now. “Then, the War happened. While we were stuck in the Time Lock, the questions changed. What were you going to do? Weren’t you going to save everyone? It was only after you helped us escape that your family, even the youngest, began to realize what kind of man you are. You had killed us. You had killed your entire family, from siblings to your own spawn. I will tell you, explaining to a child still on their first incarnation why their great-grandfather was willing to sacrifice their life is something I never want to repeat, ever again.”

Apparently, that was all the Doctor could take. He stood up, suddenly. “Bathroom.” That word was thrown out like a gauntlet being thrown at Brax’s feet. Would he let him out so the Doctor could use the bathroom? Or would there be a proper quarrel? Looking every inch the beleaguered elder brother, Brax got out of the booth so the Doctor could squeeze out, and as he’d said he walked over to the nearby restroom door and slammed it behind him as he entered the lavatory.

That left Brax and Mickey together, by themselves. Mickey was still reeling from what Brax had said. Sure, Mickey knew the vague details about how the Doctor had ended the Time War originally...but he’d never thought about his family dying in the process. Had that been part of what haunted him when they’d first met? But Mickey didn’t want to ask Brax about that. After all, it seemed as difficult a topic for him as it was for the Doctor. Instead, Mickey asked, “So, what exactly did the Doctor do on Gallifrey? We haven’t heard anything about that.”

Before Brax answered the question, Mickey realized something. The man wasn’t looking him in the eyes. Instead, it was like he was looking behind him, at something out of sight, in the distance. “One of his traveling companions died.” That made Mickey raise his eyebrows. While odd fates tended to befall people like him who’d traveled in the TARDIS, death was one of the rarer options, from what he knew. “At that time, we’d been trying to reach him. Our Lord President had wished to hear what Thete knew about some old prophecy. The Doctor removed him from power, and used our technology to try and save his companion. He broke several Laws of Time just attempting it, and if he’d pushed it too far, the universe could have ended.” Brax talked about the end of the world in the same way others might a bad speeding fine or busy traffic.

Mickey was trying to wrap his head around the idea. What Brax had said felt...strange. But before Mickey could say what he was thinking, Brax spoke, as if he’d read his mind. “You’re wondering why.” The words were colored by the small sneer on Brax’s face. “Let me guess: at some point in your time with the Doctor, you decided to leave, and he did nothing to stop you. Since then, this is the first time he’s ever gone out of his way to come and see you.”

“Well,” Mickey said, running a hand over his shaved hair. “I wouldn’t quite say that. He’s stopped by once or twice...” Of course, those had been to see Martha, not him. And two times in ten years was a spotty record. But rather than focus on that, which was druding up ugly emotions in Mickey, he changed the subject. Throwing a thumb towards the bathroom, Mickey said, “You know he’s trying to escape, right?” It felt odd for him to point that out, but he couldn’t help himself. The Doctor and running away went together like birds and flying.

“Oh,” Brax said, a bit of smugness touching his tone. “I’m sure he is trying. But we were quite thorough.” As if on cue, the bathroom door slammed open and the Doctor stalked over to the table. He looked over the room, and at the front entrance, with clear longing, before Brax got up and the Doctor dutifully took his place once more. Side-eyeing his brother, Brax confessed, “Moments after you both entered this establishment, the Celestial Intervention Agency placed a sturdy Time Lock on it. Even your...what was it? Sonic Hammer? Whatever it was, it isn’t enough to worm your way out.” It actually looked like the Doctor was paying more active attention this time, even if he was scowling in clear annoyance. “So, do you have an answer for me to pass along to Gallifrey?”

The Doctor grunted, and even Mickey waited with anticipation to hear what he had to say. “My answer is,” the Doctor started, putting at least the pretension of cheer in his voice, “no. I will make no promises that I won’t interfere in Gallifreyan politics. We both know how bad they can get if left unchecked, and if I have to choose between the universe and Gallifrey again, I’ll still pick the universe.” Even though he was trying to sound defiant, Mickey noticed the way he’d worded that. It implied he’d be protecting the universe, so perhaps he was implying, without admitting fault, that he’d try not to risk all of space-time again.

If Brax was unhappy with that answer, he didn’t show it. “I’ll pass that along,” he conveyed, and looked as though he was ready to end this little meeting. Brax rose from the booth, then brushed at his clothes, as if to wipe the stain of commoners from them, before looking at the Doctor and asking, “Could you at least come home on occasion? I don’t believe seeing your family would kill you.” It was a rather minor request.

Unlike the much larger issue of the Doctor’s policy towards his home planet, which he had seemed to come to without much emotion, this question almost made the TIme Lord stagger back as he heard it, rising out from the booth. After a pause that felt almost deafening, he finally said, “I suppose.” Then, almost starting to smile, he added, “Yes, I will come back.” His accent changed as he spoke those last words, as though he was echoing words said long ago.

With that admission given, Brax nodded his head towards his brother. “Well, our business is concluded then.” That was all he said before exiting the restaurant, and it was the last time Mickey ever saw Irving Braxiatel. Seeing as how it seemed the Time Lock was gone, the Doctor and Mickey left the building together.

Mickey was ready for the Doctor to pull his usual disappearing act, probably while saying something about some planet he was hoping to visit. Instead, as they walked down the street together once more, Mickey heard him ask, so quietly he almost couldn’t make out the words, “Do you wish I was around more often? Does being around me bring you anything worthwhile at all?” Asking that, the Doctor sounded like an old man. The question was full of longing, of fear.

If he was being honest with himself, Mickey generally avoided moments like this. People could say what they wanted about him, but he tried to keep his baggage to himself. But he couldn’t ignore that question. With no other choice, Mickey finally admitted something he’d hidden for a long time. “Yes.” That seemed to shock the Doctor, who looked at him in astonishment, prominent eyebrows raised on the far ends. “Look, we didn’t always get along. A lot of the time, I felt like an afterthought. But...it was nice even being thought of, y’know? So yeah, it’d be nice to see you once and a while, even after you regenerate again. You’re kind of...part of the family.” Mickey felt awkward saying all that out loud, but he felt it had to be said.

To his surprise, he felt the Doctor’s hand clap him on one shoulder. “Well then!” the Doctor pronounced, suddenly looking energetic, smiling in a way that made his alien eyes sparkle. “I suppose I’ll be staying for dinner.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact. Knowing Martha would be surprised and delighted by the guest, Mickey couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to object. That was how the Doctor ended up spending an evening with two ex-companions, taking steps towards mending bridges he had once abandoned as lost causes.


End file.
